The Desolate and the Overlooked
by McMorbid
Summary: They say that misery loves company. In this case, misery may lead to insanity. Naturally, it won't end well. Warnings inside.


Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia.

So...I've been having author's block...And I'm not going to do another chapter of I Just Don't Know to Say It until I get at least one more review on the latest chapter.

I guess I'm continuing with this for both a cure for author's block, and because I'm in a bit of a shitty mood (through it's not because of the before mentioned fanfic). ^^;

Rated for: Implications of sex, sexual moments (RusCan), character death and violence

This is actually an old story I started a while ago...enjoy.

* * *

_It is strange to be known so universally and yet to be so lonely." – Albert Einstein_

_We're born alone, we live alone, we die alone. Only through our love and friendship can we create the illusion for the moment that we're not alone." –Orson Welles_

* * *

They were both lonely; this sad statement became a fact a very, very long time ago.

Russia, or Ivan Braginski, was being constantly surrounded by others. The other nations of the G8, though all they did was squabble with each other, like they would always do. The three Baltic nations, though they always had seemed to only amble around Russia like chickens with their heads cut off. And of course there was always Belarus, but Ivan never really had a positive comment about her. The giant nation was well known throughout the world; and his reasons for being known weren't anything particularly admirable. His loneliness was more out of from having no one to connect to.

Canada, or Matthew Williams, felt his isolation for the common occurrence of nobody remembering who he even was, half because his voice tone was just below 'do' and half because when he was out in the world helping, the nation had been stuck in the depths of England's shadow. The second largest nation on Earth, but always being mistaken for his brother. Sure, because of the 2010 Olympics, he was thrown into the spotlight temporarily. Then the excitement soon simmered down so people could get pumped up about FIFA. His fifteen minutes of fame were over and people began to forget his name again.

The two nations didn't have all too much in common, except for cold climates and a liking of hockey. Yet Ivan felt that this shared sensation of desolation could link the Arctic nations together quite nicely. As they say, misery loves company.

Besides, even though he would never should it outwardly, Ivan found himself being drawn to Matthew with a sense of childlike curiosity. The giant was genuinely surprised when the Canadian floored him at the Olympics. Momentarily, Canada seemed to have become as scary as Russia himself, his efficiency fuelled by the frustration of losing to his brother as his own game.

Ivan found the invisible nation oddly interesting. He had liked seeing the blonde become uncharacteristically angry. No, not liked, _loved._ But it ended far too soon.

Being mentally unstable himself, Russia could easily tell the mental conditions of others, no matter how thoroughly they've hidden it. The Canadian was a time bomb, tick tick ticking away, waiting for the precise, perfect moment to erupt. Despite being a physically strong nation, his mentality had been slowly eaten away at, just like Russia's. Not at the insane rate of Ivan's state of mind, but it was became drastically delicate all the same. Any event would trigger the gentle, peace-keeping nation into detonating.

And Russia swore to all his gods that he would be the person to elicit this.

He started his course of action at the latest G8 meeting. Fortunately for Russia, the 2012 meeting was being held in Huntsville, Ontario. Ivan felt almost bad for Matthew as the Canadian desperately attempted to keep everyone's attention. For the last few meetings, everyone had to have their bosses tag along. Stephen Harper and all of the other country leaders kept sending glares over at America (who was, per usual, making the most noise) causing President Obama to probably feel somewhat uncomfortable.

In the middle of the meeting, before Matthew looked like he was about to burst into tears of frustration and as David Cameron was trying hard to keep Arthur from strangling Alfred (what else was new), Russia abruptly stood from the table, trying to make himself look even more like a giant. Every person and nation present froze immediately. Italy was probably about two seconds away from bawling.

"Would you all kindly quiet yourselves, and let Matvey continue on with his speech?" Ivan asked as gently as he could, though it didn't take a genius to tell he was barely containing the urge to brutally mutilate everyone in the room. "He was kind enough to let us stay in his home, da? So we should return the kindness and not interrupt him anymore." The Arctic nation looked to each of the other nation's faces, looking for a facial confirmation with everyone. Finally, he gazed upon Canada's shocked face, nodded in satisfaction, and sat back down. The rest of the meeting went smoothly.

The first step was to gain trust.

Just as Russia had assumed, Matt confronted him after the meeting, eyelids fluttering in embarrassment and looking like a timid school girl.

"I-I-I, um, just wanted tuh-to thank you," the shorter nation babbled on, talking so fast that his sentence almost became one word. Matt was lugging around his polar bear like usual. He brought Kumajirou up to his face to cover his wild blush.

Ivan smiled down at Canada. Matthew raised his sleeping polar bear higher, but didn't back off in fear, like most would. "Da. It's my pleasure, Matvey. You deserve to have more people listen to you."

The Canadian's flush grew deeper.

The second step was to flatter them.

"Matvey, do you think we could, as you North Americans say, 'hang out' sometime soon?" Ivan asked with the gentlest sincerity he could muster. He lowered his purple orbs to connect solidly with Matthew one's. "I would like that very much."

"Y-you want to be around me...?" Canada squeaked out, his voice slightly muffled by Kumajirou's thick fur.

"Da, of course I do."

There was a small pause of contemplation, then, "O-okay."

* * *

"Mattie! I heard from Francis that you were hanging out with that kolkoz bastard! What the hell were you doing with him?"

God, Alfred's shrill whine was very literally like the sound of nails being slowly brought down a chalkboard in Matt's ears. Sighing, the Canadian calmly explained, "Al, we were just having lunch. Nothing else than that."

America narrowed his eyes behind Texas, looking Matthew up and down as said brother hurriedly made pancakes. "Sure, that's what it's going to be in the beginning. 'Just lunch.' You know, all he wants from everyone is to 'become one with him'. And you are a damn big country. You're probably like a bull's-eye on legs in his point of view."

Canada had then glared at him, and threatened that he'll eat all the pancakes for himself if Alfred doesn't _casse-toi._ Despite not knowing what the French curse meant, America backed off, not wanting to miss the taste of the fluffy treats.

Who would know that Alfred would be the one who was right?

* * *

"Comrade Alfred threw a rock at my head today."

That effectively caused Canada to choke on his coffee (Tim Hortons, of course.). "A-Alfred did what?"

Ivan nodded grimly, though he felt like laughing hysterically at the Canadian's reaction. "He said something about poisoning your mind with communism, and then lugged the thing at the back of my head."

"A-are you okay?" Matt demanded, flying out of his seat before Ivan could answer, causing his chair to teeter precariously, before settling back down safely on its legs. Canada was immediately at the Russian's side, running slim and delicate fingers through silver locks until they hit a small bump. Frowning tightly, Canada withdrew the appendages. "Mon dieu, I'm so sorry!"

Letting out a quiet chuckle, Ivan ruffled Matt's hair, as if they were siblings. "You don't need to apologize for anything. I honestly did not feel a thing. And," he added before Matt could speak up, "I didn't injure him back, so you need not worry."

"...Are you really sure?" Matthew asked finally, his eyebrows drawn together from worry.

Ivan stared at the other nation for a few seconds, seeming to be pondering. He then leaned forward, minimizing the space between the two quickly until their lips met. His reaction was somewhat delayed, but soon Matthew was kissing him back. There was the slightest feeling of Russia's chest tighten, but he pushed it away quite easily.

As they parted, he simply said, "Da."

* * *

The relationship blossomed quickly. So quickly that at first Russia was afraid that Matthew would become frightened and ditch the whole thing, yet the Canadian stayed strong.

Matthew had asked, in a voice that was barely existent, for him to be gentle with him.

Ivan said he would, and had kept his promise. There were pale bruises, but those could be easily covered up.

As Canada cried out his name in his thralls of ecstasy, Ivan found himself almost regretting what was going to happen. It was the slightest feeling in the world, but it was still there.

He decided to pick up the pace.

The fourth time around, Russia dug his nails into the tender skin of Matt's hips, earning a loud whimper from the smaller boy underneath him. Ivan leaned down until his lips were brushing again Canada's ears. He smirked against the white flesh.

"Does it hurt?"

Matt blinked rapidly in confusion. That was an odd question. "O-of course it-nnng- does...it's not as bad as what I do to your back though..." He smiled apologetically at the man looming over him.

"Not what I meant, Matvey," Ivan practically purred, digging his nails harder, eliciting a small 'ow!' from the younger nation. "I meant with Arthur."

Arthur was a subject Matt really didn't want to have brought up while having sex. He cocked an eyebrow at Ivan, though the giant couldn't see it. "W-what do you mean? Why are you talking about him _now?"_

"He always liked comrade Alfred better. You're French, so you reminded him of Francis. Especially when you were little, when all you spoke was French. He must've beaten the Queen's English right into you," Ivan said, the words coming flying off his tongue as if they were on fire.

His words stuck Matt hard. The Arctic nation slumped back into the bed, numb with shock. "Wha-what are you..."

"Did he molest you? Perhaps after Alfred was free from him?"

The tears were coming on now. "I-Ivan..."

"Oh, but it wasn't his fault at all. He was just drinking too much; trying to drown away the pain of losing his most favourite colony. And you look so much like Alfred, so he decided to use you like a small dose of novocaine. I'm not surprised if Alfred's next fling does the same thing to you."

Those words seemed to spark something in the Canadian's mind. By now he was crying, but his expression hardened through the tears. "I-Ivan, stop it."

"You didn't mind it though. You always wanted attention from him. Even if he only thought of you as Alfred's replacement."

"Iva-Russia!"

"In fact, I think you rather enjoyed it, da? ~"

With a surprising amount of force, Matt pressed the flat of his palms against Russia's chest and pushed the Arctic nation right off him. "Casse-toi! Where is this suddenly coming from?" he snapped, sitting up hastily, ignoring the scorching pain from the red welts on his side.

Ivan stared at Matt for a moment, his face stamped with puzzled fake innocence. "I-I'm sorry Matvey...I really don't know where that came from...You know I have some troubles with my..." He gestured towards his head, more or less indicating that he was insane. "And I know that's really not a good excuse, da..."

Canada's eyes softened. Not by much, but that was actually a very good sign. An instant later his face crumpled and he broke down into a fresh bout of tears. The other violet-eyed nation consoled him the best he could.

He knew his words would get to Matt though.

* * *

The next meeting of the G8 went by as smoothly at the first one went (Russia's subtle threat was probably burned into everyone's mind), except for the occasional outburst from Alfred of course.

Before Russia could meet up with Canada, England first came up to the smaller Arctic nation.

"Oi America!"

Ivan's jaw slackened and almost dropped open. The Brit had Matt standing in front of him for hours talking about the economy, knowing fully who he was, _and _seeing Matt clearly holding Kumajirou, but still mistook him for Alfred. Matthew visibly twitched from the common error.

"A-Arthur, I'm not-"

"You really have to learn to keep your mouth shut when your brother is talking," Arthur interrupted the boy in a scolding tone, probably never really hearing what Matthew tried to sputter out. Ivan rolled his eyes at England's obliviousness.

Matthew's cheeks were starting to burn red from embarrassment. "England, would you please-"

Again he was interrupted. "America, don't but into the middle of my sentence. It is unsightly and not one of the proper things to do to become a gentleman."

Canada's cheeks were now almost taking a plum hue. But, it didn't seem to be just from raw embarrassment anymore. With all the calmness of a man doing any day-to-day activity, he set his polar bear gently on the floor, straightened himself, brought back his fist, and a instant later his knuckles had connected (hard; the practice from hockey scrabbles had really paid off) against Arthur's cheek bone. The Brit's head snapped sideways as he emitted a strangled cry of surprise.

"I'm Canada," Matthew said in an uncharacteristically loud voice, scooping Kumajirou back up and walking away calmly before Arthur could recover from the blow.

Russia had caught up with his lover not ten minutes later. Canada had been shaking as dry and silent sobs racked his chest, seeming to have been coming off an adrenaline rush. Like he had before, Russia tried to console the boy to the best of his abilities.

It had started.

* * *

That night they had done it again.

That night Ivan had fed more words of hate into Matthew's mind, letting the deceit come out in soft, velvety tones, unlike how he had before, when his speech came out too fast and too hard.

Canada either didn't hear the whispery words or ignored them. Either way, he didn't cry.

* * *

"Why did you miss the meeting, cheri~? It's not like mon chou to neglect his duties~" France cooed one particular afternoon, as he and his former charge sat at a small cafe near Matthew's house. "Are you courting with someone~?" His tone came out teasingly, but anyone could detect real concern in his cerulean eyes.

The Canadian across from his paused from his cup of coffee, eyes directed downwards. "I was just busy."

"Ah~? So you are with somebody~? Come out and tell your Papa~!"

"It's not important enough for your concern," Matthew responded coldly, before taking a sip from his drink.

More than ever, the Northern nation's words were causing France to worry all the more. The Frenchman dropped his usual cheery disposition and leaned forward, fine eyebrows nearing each other. "Mon cheri, are you really okay? You've been worrying us all; with what you're spending so much time with Russia. Even Angleterre seemed upset that you had missed the meeting."

Matt raised his eyes so they could meet Francis' – and let out a small, shrill laugh that caused the other to jump in his seat. To Francis, the noise reminded him of a Hyena's insane bark.

Chuckling lightly to himself, Matthew asked, "Oh, he actually noticed that I wasn't there?"

Almost reluctantly, Francis reached across the table and gently grasped the Canadian's hand. "Of course, mon babe. Now _please _tell me what's going on. Arthur also mentioned on how you hit him...and that just doesn't sound like you."

"Maybe I simply got tired of always being mistaken for Alfred and decided to stand up for myself."

"Oui, but Mathieu – "

"I'm sorry Papa, but I have to go now," Matt quickly interrupted, abruptly standing from his seat. He snatched his hand away from Francis', as if it was dirty. "I have to meet someone very soon."

As fellow nations began to find out about how unnaturally cold the Canadian was to even France, they began to suspect and become paranoid about how they may have a second Russia on their hands.

* * *

"_Tell me that you love me, Matvey."_

"_I-I love y-you."_

"_Nyet, tell me in your native language."_

"_J-Je t'aime."_

"_Good boy. And I'm the only one you can love, da?"_

"_Yes."_

"_And why is that~?"_

"_B-because we're both lonely. And only a lonely person can love someone else who is lonely."_

"_Da, da. The others were never lonely, because they always had each other. So that means they could have never loved you. Not like I do. Not even France. For all we know, he only wanted you for your body."_

"_That's r-right."_

"_Da, of course I'm right. Now Matvey...I need you to show your devotion to me. Now, my little _подсолнечник, _think about who's the worst of the bunch. Who is constantly forgetting you? Who had forgotten your existence the moment you became a country? Who will you kill for me?"_

_

* * *

_

It was raining.

The one and only thing that Arthur never liked about his home was the constant rain. Every night. Every day. The sole reason he enjoyed visiting different countries now-a-days was to see a spot of the sun. The Brit always thought that America and Canada (well, when he remembered) always had the nicest, sunny climates. Apparently they didn't; he could tell it was pouring cats and dogs outside of his Ontario hotel.

Giving out a soft sigh, the blonde sat back down on his bed, his mind floating off to the nation he currently resided in. Canada's anger stood loudly on Arthur's cheek in the form of a rather large and unappealing bruise.

It wasn't that England would forget his former colony on purpose...it wasn't _his _fault that Matthew had an unsettling habit becoming transparent at the oddest moments. It also wasn't _his _fault that the Canadian looked identical to his older brother.

The man's thoughts were cut off by a knock at the door, accompanied by a soft, "A-Arthur, are you there? C-can I come in?"

The very light French accent was unmistakable. England sat up, running a hand through his mussed hair. "Of course Matthew."

The door edged open, and Matt poked his head around the corner of it, looking sheepish. He quietly slipped into the room and shut the door behind him. "I-I came to apologize...I-I really am sorry for hurting you like that. I don't know what came after me!"

Frowning sympathetically, Arthur patted he bedspread beside him, motioning for the Canadian to sit, which he did. "Luv, you have nothing to be sorry about. I should be sorry. What I keep doing is very improper, and you don't deserve it. I've been quite the arse." To this, the Englishman offered Matthew a small smile. To England's delight, the younger nation smiled back.

"Now luv, can we let bygones be bygones? I won't mistake you for anyone else anymore."

"Yes Arthur. I forgive you," Matthew replied with a soft smile. Without warning, he leaned forward and took the older man into a tight hug. England stiffened uncertainly for a moment, but soon enough relaxed and hugged the Canadian back.

And then came a queer, stinging sensation in the center of his back.

A second later, this stinging sensation grew into a full out rip of raw pain that blasted up England's back in heated waves. Arthur choked in a cocktail of confusion and pain as Matthew pulled away from him, bearing a smile that was quite appropriate for those in a loony bin. As he moved, the knife in the Canadian's hand also came into sight.

It only took a second before England realized that, _yes_, that was his own blood bathed over the blade of the knife.

"Y-you—why—"

Before he could get further, Matthew lunged forward again, swiftly plunging the knife into the flesh under Arthur's ribcage. The Canadian found himself in a childish awe at how easily it slid in, as if England was made out of butter.

Another choke came ripped from the Brit's mouth; though this one was supplemented with a spray of fine blood. Smirking as he was hit with the liquid, Matthew pushed England back onto the bed, tearing his knife out of the man's chest. This time Arthur screamed, his mouth sending out ropes of blood so thick they were nearly solid. Again, they hit Matthew, and again, he didn't care.

"You seriously thought I was going to be fine about this, eh? Just completely forgive you for all the years of neglect!" Canada exclaimed through a tone of false disappointment. He positioned the soaked knife over the bloodied nation's chest. "Well..._I'm...not...ever...FUCKING...FORGIVING YOU!" _Each word was punctuated with a rough stab to England, the last one gone directly into the man's throat.

Breathing heavily, sweat dripping off his nose, Matthew moved off of England, gazing at his handiwork proudly. He absently wiped at a spot of blood on his cheek, though all it did was smear the red substance.

Russia's going to be proud.

* * *

England's death was, naturally, a shock to everyone.

Even for months after, people were shell-shocked about the news.

America still wouldn't utter a single word to anyone else; except for Canada.

It was a risky move, but the Canadian took in Alfred to keep suspicion from rising any further than it was. Though, the suspicion wasn't _too _great; who would ever become suspicious of meek, little Canada killing his father figure?

More months came and went. Canada and Russia grew closer to ever. Fellow nations were gossiping about how the two were going to join as one and create the largest anyone would ever see in a long time; though the gossip was small.

Around half a year after England's death, Francis was found dead at a world meeting. He was discovered slumped in one of the seats at the great table where the meeting's take place, throat opened into a gruesome smile.

And then Germany.

And then Greece.

Panic arose, and Ivan and Matthew grew even closer.

* * *

"You are doing really well, Matvey~" Ivan praised the panting boy below him, stroking his lower back tenderly. "Now you must stop trying to avoid this one last thing you must do..." The giant smirked, bringing a gloved finger to the Canadian's puckered entrance, rubbing teasingly.

"I –ooh – c-caa - nt'! I-Ivan!"

"You can, and you will." Still with the infuriating stroking.

"B-but I-I –ah- can't-! It's g-getting too o-out of hand...I-I can't...nnng...go any further..."

The hovering Russian clicked his tongue unhappily. "You will do it for me, da~? Besides, he was one of the worst; I know that you must kill others that you weren't even close to in the first place...but now you must do this..."

Gasping for air, body screaming for release, Matthew rolled his eyes to Ivan's. "I...mm...h-have gone insane, haven't I...?" the Canadian asked in a curiously childish voice. His beautiful twin orbs held neither scorn nor distaste; they were simply inquiring.

This caused Russia to pause (which in turn caused Matt to whine in disappointment). Through their 'relationship', he had never been questioned on the blonde's mentality. Nevertheless, he didn't feel like lying to the boy. "...Da. You are quite insane. And so am I – another reason why we are the only people for each other. Now you must promise..."

"I-I really don't think I can! I can't kill him...it will make me worse..."

"Think about it Matvey...because of him you are always either overlooked or mistaken for him. You are beaten for what he does. You are punished because of him. Get rid of him and it will end. Get rid of him, and we will fully become one...now promise me or I won't continue."

Another whine escaped the lips of the trembling blonde. Finally, he groaned out, "F-fine! I'll do it! Just, please!"

Satisfied, Ivan gently pushed his massive fingers into Canada, watching happily as the Canadian arched his back, uttering a sharp scream.

They spoke no more words of insanity. Yet Russia could not make the damnable word exit his mind.

* * *

"This is seriously creeping me out, Mattie! I mean, what if the nation killer starts turning to superpowers like me? This is scaring the shit out of me!"

Matthew offered his wailing brother a mildly sympathetic look. "I-I know Al...It's really scaring me too..."

The two were sitting at Canada's kitchen table, bathed in the early morning sunlight. Alfred stared ahead at his younger brother, looking positively miserable. "You know...people are heavily suspecting that it's Russia –even though they can't find any damn evidence! – and, well you've been hanging with him _a lot._" The American's eyes grew uncharacteristically serious. "Please Matt; if he's forcing you to keep something a secret, you know you can tell me. I will stop him."

"As far as I know, he's done nothing," Canada answered instantly, and, somewhat truthfully. "Al, just please try to relax. Do you want some coffee? I think it should be ready by now."

"Yeah, sure," Alfred answered, and then scrunched up his nose teasingly. "I'm proud to say I've gotten used to your crappy Tim Hortons coffee! Dude, you seriously need to get into Starbucks."

Sticking his tongue out at his Southern neighbour, Matthew quietly poured the drink into two mugs and brought them back to the table; where America snatched his cup, instantly taking a sip.

They chatted for a few minutes.

Canada waited.

And finally, Alfred announced, "I don't feel well."

Casting the American another sympathetic expression, Matt asked, "How so?"

"I-I-dunno...just feel..." Quite suddenly, Alfred clutched his chest, as if he were suffering a heart attack. His wobbling eyes connected with Matt's; and the Canadian could have sworn that he heard twin light bulbs going off. A second later, the nation collapsed to the floor.

With trembling legs, Matthew rose and went to call Ivan.

* * *

"Why did you do this to me?" Matt asked a few days after Alfred's funeral. He and Ivan were huddled together on the couch of the Russian's vast house, clutching each other tightly. To keep suspicion, Ivan had managed to ship America back to his own house, where it seemed he had died. Everyone chocked it down to the terrible economy.

"What did I do?"

"Turn me like this...make me like this...turn me into a killer..."

Russia patted the boy's head soothingly. "I could tell that you were very close to being, as Comrade Arthur would have said, 'round the bend'. I simply wanted to help you submit to this before you exploded from not letting it out~"

"I don't want to do this anymore," Matthew whispered, bringing his knees up tightly to his chest. "I don't want to be like this anymore. I don't care if I explode from it – just, _please_ don't make me kill any more people."

"It is much too late, Matvey. You are too far in to quit now. And besides; aren't people seeing you now that these certain people are eliminated?"

"I-I don't care anymore about if I'm seen or not...just please stop bringing me down into insanity." Tears began to spill down the Canadian's cheeks.

Mutely, Russia held Matthew close and allowed him to cry.

* * *

There were no more deaths for a while. The stress that had settled over the nations was finally beginning to ease up. Things eventually ran back to the norm.

As the nations became relaxed, there came rumours that Canada and Russia were to be wed.

In truth, it was only tonight that they were discussing it.

"Now, once we become one, we will be able to get Yao into to it too~" Ivan explained cheerfully, folding his gloved hands over his lap.

"I thought that _I _was the only one for you," Matt huffed half-seriously, taking out a bottle of vodka he had saved for his Russian lover. Russia's violet-hued eyes immediately lit up at the sight of the alcohol; though to the silverette's surprise, Canada took the first gulp, before offering it to Russia.

"Of course you are, Matvey~" Russia cooed before taking his own swig. "Yao will just be a country that I have power over – _we _have power over. He means nothing to me in the way you do."

"Of course."

"Now, I – " The giant cut off his own speech as an odd feeling wormed it's way into his portly stomach. To Ivan's abhorrence, his heart began to pound painfully, until the organ popped clean out of his chest and onto the wooden floor. Matthew, looking frightfully blank, bent over to retrieve rapidly pulsing organ.

"M-Matvey, what did you..."

"I had to end this," Matthew interrupted, his voice soft, as it was months ago. He was carefully caressing Ivan's heart. "You were going too far. So I had to do the same to you as I did to Al."

"But...you drank the vodka too..."

"I know." Smiling gently, Canada leaned forward and used his free hand to pet Russia's cold cheek. "Even after all you did to me, I still love you. It's almost like I have Stockholm syndrome or something." He then laughed, a sound that had always reminded Ivan of sunflowers blossoming in the sunlight. "So I couldn't let you go by yourself. Besides...I can't take the weight anymore."

Russia shook his head violently, desperately trying to rid of the abrupt dizziness crashing into his being. "No...I don't want to die..."

"It will be okay," Matthew assured his dying lover, leaning forward to envelop the giant in a squeezing hug. "We'll die into insanity. We'll die into loneliness. But we'll be together into death."

"Matvey..."

Ushering up the last of his strength, Canada rose and pressed his chapped lips against the corner of Ivan's mouth. "Je t'aime."

On the other side, they weren't as lonely.

They were seen as complete, and they were seen by all.

* * *

Holy flipping shit. This is the longest one-shot I've ever written.

Well, hope you enjoyed my own insanity. And the lame ending.

Please R&R...though I won't be expecting much.


End file.
